Summer Squall
by milkbarsoap
Summary: -they come as quickly as they go. That's what Alfred's existence was like to Natalya. A brief downpour, just enough to bring the flowers into full bloom.
1. Probability and Prospect

_For everyone who's had that impermanent someone subtly waltz into their life one day and make everything better, even if it didn't last forever :)_

Reviews always appreciated!

* * *

It was summer.

A comfortable silence permeated the modest studio apartment, save for the low humming of the wooden ceiling fan overhead.

At the glass table overlooking large, full-length bay windows sat a young lady with her head rested on her folded arms, locks of platinum blond hair spilling over onto the table like calm waves gently washing over quartz sand below. An assortment of items scattered on the table peeked out from beneath the sleek blond- a black Moleskin and singular fountain pen at the corner of her right elbow, a sleek black cellphone at another end, and a collection of scraps of paper and other ephemera carelessly wedged under a paperweight in front of where her head currently lay.

Her undulating silhouette with every breath drawn in and out fell into step with the soft rhythm of the spinning blades above, creating a soporific atmosphere of more languor than ease. The curtains framing the windows fluttered lightly in the breeze stirred up as the day's forgiving sunlight bathed the apartment's drowsy inhabitant in its glow.

Natalya was about to traverse the boundaries between this world and the one of dreams when the all-too-familiar tune of Chopin's Etude Opus 25, No. 11 in A minor suddenly rang out.

Every note punctuated the stillness with an acrid sharpness her lethargy simply could not drown out, and each succeeding note succeeded in dragging her further and further back to the reality she was ultimately fettered to.

Disgruntled, she let the piece reach around the halfway mark before purposefully rousing herself from her sluggish state. Dainty, well-manicured fingers curled around the offending object and slid across the touch screen a tad too forcefully.

"_Yes_."

There wasn't even a need to look at the caller ID. Only one person would call her in the middle of the day.

"_Natalya, ma chérie! You didn't forget about our meeting tomorrow, did you? I was worried since you didn't reply to any of my love letters!_"

"No." Natalya was a woman of few words, all the more so with dandy characters who called text messages '_love letters_'.

"'_No' as in you didn't forget? Or you didn't get my-_"

The abrupt rousing from her sleep had put the girl in a bad mood, and she cut him off with a harsh sigh that could rival winter winds.

"9am at Sugar & Spice right? I'll be there, Francis."

Before her agent had a chance to reply, Natalya silenced the device.

The phone clattered heavily to the table as a grumpy Natalya released another sigh. She leaned against the back of her chair and attempted to appease the headache she could feel coming on with pre-emptive rubs of her temple.

Her gaze fell upon the view outside her window. Summer wasn't quite in full swing yet, so the weather was a nice in-between that offered the pleasant temperatures of late spring with the welcoming warmth of early summer. The potted pink and blue hydrangeas soaking up the sunlight brightened her mood a little, even if they were the only ones in full bloom. It appeared as though the zinnias and petunias had not quite reached their peak, and she attributed the absence of her African lilies blooming to the lack of rain over the past week.

Natalya had tried watering them but to no avail. And she was worried of root rot.

She made the mistake of glancing over at the large calendar on the wall, which instantly snapped her out of her brief flower reverie and flung her off the deep end again.

_June 23. Already._

She felt her jaw tense, the unsettling frustration seizing her once more. No wonder even Francis was worried. Groaning, Natalya dropped her head onto the table and shut her eyes tightly, almost as if she hoped the very action could cut her off from the world and all her worries.

* * *

Francis was easy to spot amongst the morning crowd at the cafe.

It wasn't just his colourful, distinct fashion or the glow of his flawless skin that made him stand out from the dreary caffeine-deprived mob- there was something about the man and his demeanour that simply _radiated _elegance and charm, so much so that nobody would ever guess his occupation to be something as boring as an agent.

Sugar & Spice was the local cafe a stone's throw away from Natalya's residence, and was typically her location of choice for meet-ups with Francis because one, it was close by, two, it wasn't too crowded, and three, they served _darned good pancakes. _At 9 in the morning, the morning crowd was already dying down and consisted mainly of office workers and college students waiting to get their energy brews to go. Most of the seats in the cafe were unoccupied save for a couple of tourists and other regulars Natalya recognised.

Francis had already made himself at home at one of the small marble-top tables near the counter when Natalya walked in, his chin cradled in one hand and fingers hooked around the handle of a hot mug of coffee. He burst into a smile at the sight of her, just as the appetising aroma of freshly-brewed coffee filled her nostrils.

"Ah, bonjour, ma chérie!" The man chirped and waved his favourite (and most troublesome) author over, iridescent silky balloon sleeves fluttering as he did so.

Francis' enthusiasm was unfortunately only met with a pained smile on Natalya's face.

She slid into the chair opposite Francis.

"It's about my book, isn't it." The words felt like rough, jagged rocks tumbling off her tongue.

Entirely unfazed by her lacklustre response, Francis let his smile melt into one that conveyed a twinge of sympathy. "Well, honey, you haven't been putting out content for a while, and I'm concerned about your career."

Natalya was well aware that it was probably Francis' company breathing down his back and pushing him about her lack of progress. _Money-grubbing assholes, _she criticised inwardly. Having known the man since the start of her career as an author, she knew that Francis was a kind soul, and would never rush her for projects or treat her as a cash cow. Their first encounter had been completely by chance- both of them had happened to be in the same bookstore when he'd overheard her desperately trying to negotiate a contract with a then-potential agent on the line. He took an interest in the girl who looked a bit too young to be an author, she passed him her manuscript, and the rest was history. Since then, Natalya had published two novels with moderate success in the span of their 3-year partnership, _just_ enough to not get terminated.

Yet.

"I'm just a little… stuck." She spat the last word out begrudgingly, then drank a mouthful of hot tea as if to dissolve the lump in her throat. "Everything I write comes out robotic and vapid and so...so lifeless."

The bell tinkled as two young adults strolled into the cafe, one appearing dapper with his stylishly side-parted hair and leather oxfords, and the other more flamboyant in a kaleidoscopic bomber jacket paired with oversized thick-frame glasses perched on his nose. The unique duo seemed to be engaged in a somewhat intense discussion as they made their way over to join the queue at the counter, oblivious to the attention they were attracting.

Francis noticed the almost imperceptible strain in the girl's voice and felt his heart give a little squeeze. She was only a child- at least in his eyes she was. At that age where uncertainty and disorientation ran rife, giving free rein to the tossing waves of the sea to wash one up on whatever uninhabited island somewhere.

He gave a wry smile. She reminded him of himself in more ways than one.

"You don't have to push it, love." Francis lifted the cup of mocha to his lips and felt its warmth spread across his face. "It's just a suggestion they had. You _know_ I'd fight them if they dared propose anything ridiculous," he started, careful with his diction as Natalya's eyes narrowed further, "but I think there's no harm in trying what they said this time."

Natalya frowned. "...And they said?"

"W-e-l-l, uh," Francis performed some routine stirring motions with his stirrer so he could avoid her gaze slightly, "they wanted you to maybe try a different genre-"

"Action." Natalya nodded pensively. It did make sense, exploring a new genre could help get her cogwheels turning, and an action thriller, while not exactly up her alley, wasn't exactly out of the question. She could probably handle it, after all, it did bear similar elements with murder mystery-

"_Romance_."

There was the unceremonious thud of a knee banging against the underside of the table, and some of Natalya's earl grey sloshed over the edge of the cup and marred the white surface with its ugly splotches.

Setting his cup down a little unsteadily, Francis offered the girl a sheepish smile.

For what felt like a protracted period of time, the only sound filling the air between them was the background buzz of customers in the cafe punctuated by the slightly louder chatter of the two college guys nearby.

"Why Natalya, don't put on that sour face! You're a beautiful young lady blooming in your twenties!" Francis chuckled and tried to lighten the mood. "The way I see it," he began slowly, "It's not a bad thing. They aren't exactly asking you to publish a romance novel, but _attempt_ to write one."

"_And exactly what difference does that make_?"

"A big one." Francis relaxed his tightly drawn lips into a more comfortable smile. "It means you can treat it like a writing exercise. Zero stakes, zero pressure."

He felt a little guilty for that last bit. Zero stakes wasn't exactly true, per se. Her daily bread was on the line here. But Francis knew the girl couldn't work under pressure- why else would she be in her current state? If there was anything he'd learnt from his younger days, it was that creativity flowed best in the absence of stress, and inspiration struck in the most uncanny of times.

Natalya was no idiot of course, and she understood the hidden premise in Francis' statement. If she messed up, it was back to business school for her. And then a lifetime of running in the hamster wheel that was her family business.

Snippets of the two college boys' conversation grew audible as the queue shortened and they drew nearer to the table Francis and Natalya were seated at.

"-_wait_ what do you mean class _could be_ at 9? Prof's gonna kill us!"

"I mean it _could _be at 9 and it could _also _be at 10, but honestly, I can't remember dude."

The one with the side part all but flipped out. "_Then don't tell me it starts at 10_, _you_ _blimming idiot! _Jesus why are we still ordering coffee at-"

"Why not? Don't get your panties in a bunch." His friend simply grinned and coolly surveyed the drink options. "I'm just gonna take the chance it starts at 10."

Something about that last sentence, and the way it was said with such nonchalance and unfounded confidence (or perhaps, an utter lack of regard for the potential consequences mixed with blind stupidity) stirred something within Natalya. It continued echoing in her mind even after the two students had grabbed their beverages and left the premise, her eyes trailing after the amusing scene of one frazzled at the prospect of being late and the other merrily enjoying his coffee as he ambled behind his friend.

_Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Why not take that chance?_

Natalya was sure that she was going to regret this. She sighed.

"Is there a deadline?"


	2. Nimbostratus

Thank you bubblesodatea for the love, it means a lot :) Apologies for the wait, but I hope it's worth it. Reviews are much appreciated, as always!

* * *

For the millionth time that day, Natalya wondered just _what the heck_ she was doing on one of the perfectly-paved paths running through the perfectly-mowed lawns in Grand Heather University.

She looked down at the thin piece of plastic nestled in the palm of her left hand, glinting with all its glory under the late morning sun, and then back at the sprawling modern campus before her.

Natalya sighed inwardly. This was all Francis' fault.

"_Is there a deadline?"_

_Francis' eyes sparkled at Natalya's acceptance of the proposition. "Nope! Just think of it as a summer school course or something. Go with the flow, write whatever comes to mind. Zero stakes, zer-"_

"_Zero pressure, yes." _

"_You may be surprised at where things take you when you leave life on autopilot. Every decision changes something," hummed the Frenchman, who was now clearly in high spirits. The faraway look in Francis' eyes as he took in a deep breath of coffee made Natalya briefly wonder if he was some kind of magical, world-weary immortal who'd been sent from above to guide her. It _was _Francis, after all. The man shed glitter and oozed perfume from his pores. She'd buy it._

_Then he gently nodded in the direction of a rectangular object on the ground that should've been all too easy to miss, an enigmatic smile painted across his lips._

"_How about returning that card to its owner for a start?"_

She had then attempted to push the responsibility to Francis, but the darned fop had taken off in a heartbeat with half-baked excuses about lunch plans and other clients, leaving her with the burdensome object.

Students milled around without paying much attention to the petite young lady with porcelain skin standing dumbly in the middle of the quadrangle, who seemed to repel all sorts of conversation or attempts at amiability with her mere presence. In fact, Natalya may as well have been a vampire in her pastel attire compared to the rest of the campus-goers with their wine-coloured varsity hoodies, denim jeans in all sorts of wash, and various tops and bottoms in every colour of the rainbow.

_Alison Clara College of Medicine, huh. _Natalya reread the details on the card again despite being fully aware that it wouldn't yield any information she hadn't already gleaned from her first three times scrutinising it.

_Alfred F. Jones, Undergraduate Medicine, Year of Enrolment 2017. _Next to his name was a photo of his face, but even its grainy quality couldn't hide that unmistakable burst of golden-yellow hair and nigh-idiotic grin. There wasn't any other information besides some fine print about loss or damage of the card. The campus was fairly large, which meant this _Alfred _person could be in any of its 20 lecture theatres, 35 classrooms, or 5 labs, or at least, according to the school website.

Of course, Natalya _could_ simply ask any of the other students around if they recognised the man, hand them the card, and be on her merry way, but social interaction was a field she neither enjoyed nor excelled in, and therefore ruled in favour of abject silence. She'd stalk people down if she had to. It was most definitely the lesser of two evils in question.

_I should just hand this over to the administrative office. I'm not going to waste my time searching for some imbecile who's incompetent enough to lose his student card at a cafe. _A quick sighting of the sign 'Administrative Office' printed in large, gold font with an arrow pointing right on one of the walls prompted such an idea, and the young lady began marching in the indicated direction with quick, determined steps. She really couldn't comprehend what Francis was trying to get out of this. As much as he was a nice guy trying to help her out, sometimes the man was simply too darn optimistic and full of airy-fairy crap. There were still a couple of newly-bought books waiting for her at home. Maybe reading them would help kick start her writing again.

Unfortunately for Natalya, as fate would have it, as she happened to pass two girls walking in the opposite direction, she managed to catch a certain portion of their conversation. Spoken with overflowing giddiness and punctuated by giggles, it went somewhere along the lines of '_catching the dancer hottie Alfred in the 11 o'clock class, who I heard, by the way, has abs of steel!'. _Natalya glanced at her watch with dismay. At less than three minutes to 11, what were the chances these two girls were headed for their next class right then? What were the chances this '_dancer hottie Alfred_' (she gagged internally at the horrific title) was the Alfred she was looking for? How many people were named Alfred?

She could just leave. Keep walking straight, leave the card with the management, and go home. Home to her privacy indoors, home to her books, home to… Her expression crumpled slightly at her inability to complete that thought, and the slight squeeze of her heart only manifested in the edges of the plastic card cutting into the flesh of her gradually tightening fist. _It's alright, don't force yourself, _Natalya found herself kindly reassuring herself, with slight bemusement. _It's not your fault you can't think of the third thing. So much for _omne trium perfectum_._

After all, there really was nothing to go home to.

All it took was five seconds of deliberation. With a low growl and much inward cursing, Natalya spun around on her heel and swiftly followed after the giggling girls.

This Alfred fellow had better be grateful.

* * *

"Hol' up, Artie. Lemme just grab my card…" Alfred murmured distractedly, his attention focused on rummaging rather clumsily through his galaxy-print drawstring bag. The blatant rustling sounds and frantic movements created from the disorganised shuffling drew raised eyebrows and funny expressions from the other students around him, as well as an irate scowl from the blond by his side who huffed loudly in response with a push of his hair backwards.

"For God's sake, don't hold up the queue, class is about to start!" A hint of red had crept into Arthur's cheeks. Then he furrowed his thick brows at his friend, revealing faint lines on his forehead that spoke of perhaps one too many a time of exasperation and sufferance. "_Please_ don't tell me you lost it."

A long garbled 'Uhhh' was all that Alfred could manage, his face partially lost in his bag.

Arthur sighed heavily and tugged his friend away from the machine where they were supposed to scan their matriculation cards. "I swear to God _I'm_ gonna lose it."

"Damn, I might as well not have come to school today!" Alfred exclaimed with complete disregard for the lecturer at the podium as the two made their way into the lecture theatre and headed for their usual seats in the last row right next to the backdoor. "Missed opportunity!" Meanwhile, Arthur felt no need to hide his horror at how his fellow classmate was so staunchly unperturbed by the fact that he now not only had an invalid absence to explain but also a fallen matriculation card somewhere.

"Remind me why we're friends again?" He pretended to grumble, despite knowing full well the reason behind it.

"Dunno~" Alfred answered cheerily and proceeded to sling one arm around the shorter male's shoulder, taking another sip of his drink.

Arthur rolled his eyes but smirked. The two quickly fell silent as the professor commenced his weekly droning on anatomy, but Arthur's mind lingered on the memory of the day they'd met.

* * *

Mondays were the worst, but summer holiday Mondays were the _absolute_ worst. Arthur knew all too well the humdrum of days steeped in sweltering heat, temptations of iced Sangrias, and of course, endless ennui. Well, he supposed, the last one was by his own choice. The privileged select few that passed his friendship criteria weren't always available to spend time with him. Of course, he had the foresight to anticipate such a consequence, but it didn't make the days go by any easier.

Arthur gently slammed the door to his red Bentley shut and sighed. The hot air filled his nostrils and lungs with a staleness so suffocating that he wanted nothing more than to dive into the air-conditioned fast food chain erected just twenty metres away from where he stood, which beckoned him over more and more with every passing second. With a click of his leather oxfords, he promptly made his way across the carpark and into the establishment.

As the automated doors slid apart, the young English gentleman instantly collapsed into the rush of cool air that embraced him and felt his mood elevate from a _decidedly irked_ to a _somewhat fine_. The salvation that was the drop in temperature overshadowed the otherwise plain interior- plastic red chairs left in haphazard arrangements around equally tacky white tables by former customers, and large posters advertising their special of the day tacked onto the beige walls and glass windows. Bathed in ambient light, the handful of customers inside were dispersed around the dining area, filling the air with the soft yet audible buzz of their chatter. Arthur stiffened visibly when his ears were assaulted by some nearby child's blatant abusage as he strode up to the counter, unable to remove his mind from the distracting and entirely incorrect use of 'who' instead of 'whom'.

"Welcome to McDonald's! Can I take your order please!"

Arthur looked up from the menu to meet the gaze- nay, _stare_\- of the cashier with the biggest, cheesiest grin he'd ever seen slapped across his face.

He blinked. The cashier's grin did not falter.

"Uh," the startled British teen managed weakly, eyes riveted to the cashier's pearly-whites and his shock of sunshine yellow hair that was, frankly, pain-inducing to see in the same frame as the neon green jacket covering his server uniform. _And what am I supposed to be looking at, an 80's Ken doll reject?_

"Uh," he tried again, eyes flitting back to the menu on the counter once more despite already knowing what he wanted to order.

Arthur cleared his throat and smoothed out the invisible wrinkles on the front of his impeccably ironed white button-up shirt. "A quarter pounder, please."

"Wouldn't recommend that unless you want a side of salmonella!"

"_Excuse me?!"_

The cashier just kept grinning and staring expectantly at Arthur, who could only imagine, in hindsight, the most bewildered expression contorting his features at that moment. As things would have it, it turned out that that town had just recalled several tonnes of beef due to a salmonella outbreak, and this cashier had been nice enough to give him a heads-up, just in case.

Arthur left the premise with a fish burger in hand and a lot on his mind.

Four weeks later, Arthur found himself on a flight to Manhattan in seat 45A, desperately trying to ignore the dead stare a certain blonde one seat away from him was giving him. It was the same cashier from back then, and an odd sense of déjà vu was beginning to stir within him. Small talk, Arthur believed, was a most pointless and prosaic waste of time, and small talk with _strangers _only made everything worse by about tenfold. Which was why he was so fervently avoiding the other man's heated gaze, desperately praying to whatever higher beings were listening that _Good lord please do not let him open his mouth, or else I'm gonna have to excuse myself to the bathroom so frequently everyone on board will think I have a UTI or— _

"Heyyyyyy, aren't you the dude that ordered salmonella?"

* * *

"_Mr Jones_! And what kind of hemorrhage would this be?"

The wooden doors at the back creaked open at the timely moment Professor Harrison sprung the question on his unsuspecting victim— except Alfred _should _have expected it, if not for the fact that he had spent the past twenty minutes staring into space, fiddling with his glow-in-the-dark neon green pen, playing three rounds of Pac-Man on his phone, and observing the people in the row before his pass notes among one another like a bunch of giggly grade-schoolers.

Peppy Sunshine Boy jumped in his seat at the sound of his professor's voice, nearly knocking the tumbler of coffee right off the desk.

"Huh? Oh, uh…" Caught off guard and evidently suffering from its full blown consequences, Alfred fumbled for an answer while his eyes that practically screamed for help darted toward his blond friend frantically. Natalya wanted to crawl under the table and hide from secondhand embarrassment. She would never have been caught off guard like this, as much as she hated her classes, seeing as to how being unprepared was _literally_ antithetical to her very existence. But the day's rather absurd turn of events thus far, as well as it's toll on her now-fatigued mind, resulted in a singular word softly but harshly pushing past her lips.

"Extradural."

Alfred paused mid-fumble. He turned his head to stare at the other blonde next to him with eyes as round as saucers, then at the unamused lecturer staring at him, then back at the blonde. He blinked. Natalya thought the man was going to get whiplash and die. Good.

"Uh… Extradural?"

The elderly man huffed and turned back to the board. "Should've been at the tip of your tongue, Mr Jones."

"Gotcha prof!" Evidently over his initial flustered state in a flash, the unabashed boy threw finger guns at the professor's back with an ear-splitting grin gracing his mischievous features, much to the displeasure of his companion who made no attempt at concealing the disgust on his face.

"Thanks for the save, pal." Alfred half-collapsed back into his seat in an act of exaggeration now that the ordeal was over, and wiped some mock sweat from his forehead to complete the gesture. "I've never seen you around before, by the way. You new or something?" He lifted the cup of coffee from its pool of condensation on the table to his lips while raising an eyebrow at her expectantly, water droplets still rolling down the side of the cup and forming darkened patches on his jeans.

With the scrawled writing in black marker ink on the cup now visible under the lecture theatre lights, Natalya could make out the words _C&C_, shorthand for _Cookies & Cream_, on the front, and it most definitely did not improve her impression of him. A sugar-laden drink first thing in the morning? Why was he in medicine again?/Evidently this man had skipped the entire section on diabetes.

Blithely, she slid the burdensome plastic card towards him without so much as a glance at the man.

"You dropped this."

Alfred broke into yet another smile at the sudden appearance of the cost of his attendance. "Hey, it's my card! I knew I'd dropped it somewhere!" Broad fingers unfurled from large, slightly calloused hands to pick up the tiny rectangle and turn it over and over idly as if to inspect if anything about it had been changed in the three hours it hadn't been with its owner.

"Where'd you find it?"

He looked up from his hands, intrigued.

But there was only emptiness left occupying the adjacent seat, leaving him with only a moment's confusion that was quickly forgotten in favour of the spaceship game someone seemed to be playing on his phone two rows down.


End file.
